Never Thought I Would Say These Words
by theviolonist
Summary: Let's just say that tasteful lingerie isn't exactly Emma Swan's forte, and leave it at that.


**1.**

Regina is staring.

At first, because she is an incurable optimist, Emma thinks it's a good sign. It's what a good surprise is supposed to elicit, right? Surprise. Bemusement, quickly followed by stunned arousal, etc. It's flattering. After a while, though, Emma has to resign herself to the fact that Regina is not in fact going to jump her bones. Emma wraps her arms around herself, suddenly acutely conscious of how cold it is and that people could pass by any moment and see her, you know, stand on the Mayor's doorstep dressed in a bunny outfit consisting of bunny ears, garters and not much else.

She clears her throat. "So what, you're gonna let me in or not?

Regina, the bitch, actually looks like she's thinking about it for a second. "No," she says eventually. "Certainly not in that..." she makes a vague gesture towards Emma's get-up, as if touching by touching it she might catch some sort of vicious long-dead virus, "_costume_."

"Come on," Emma says. "You're going to make me cross half the town in the cold in my underwear because I dared to try and surprise you?"

Regina's eyes are as cool and dark as they always are, but Emma knows her well enough to spot the inkling of a grin quirking at the corner of her lip. "Yes, I believe you got the facts right. Go home, Miss Swan."

And then she shuts the door in Emma's face. Emma gapes.

"_Seriously_?" she yells at the closed door.

* * *

Eventually she resigns herself to the fact that she is actually going to have to cross Storybrooke in a fucking _bunny outfit_. It's about as fun as it sounds. Snow - who is her _mother_, Christ, Emma has never been more thankful that she's not entirely internalized the fact yet – gasps, horrified; Belle smirks (!); Ruby quirks a knowing eyebrow and then proceeds to make fun of her for the rest of the evening (or, as it soon appears, the rest of Emma's _life_).

Emma hurries home to get changed, ignoring Snow's anxious and disapproving chatter. When she finally gets jeans and a shirt on, she sighs in relief.

Then, because she's a masochist, she decides to have a hot chocolate at Granny's Diner.

Ruby pounces on her as soon as she crosses the doors. She follows Emma to her table, smug like the cat who got the cream, which Emma particularly resents since she didn't get the fucking cream. Ruby leans a hip against Emma's table.

"A hot cho-" is what Emma gets out before: "How did your visit to the Mayor go?"

Emma groans. "You know what, make that a hot chocolate with whisky. Or, like, a whisky with a bit of hot chocolate in it."

"Ah," Ruby says knowingly. "The Emma Swan method. If something goes wrong, drink. And then drink more."

Emma splutters. "What? I don't -"

"You do. It's okay. Maybe we should've have warned you," she adds a bit distractedly, scribbling on her pad. "Do you want pie?"

"No, I don't want _pie_. What do you mean you should've warned me? You _knew_."

"In my defense, I figured you did, too. I mean, you're dating the woman. But epic misunderstandings are definitely your and the Mayor's area."

Emma scowls. "They're not."

Ruby makes her duh face at Emma. God, Emma hates that face. "You spent a whole year trying to kill each other, Ems. I'm pretty sure that qualifies as epic misunderstanding."

Emma can't really deny that, and there's also the fact that they've had that conversation several times (she's actually had it with Regina too, though that was distinctly less fun, even though it ended in angry sex the first few times), so she just scowls some more.

"Are you sure you don't want pie?" Ruby asks, oblivious to Emma's deep misery.

Emma leans her forehead against the cool surface of the table. "Go. Away," she does not whine. Okay, maybe she whines, but she's justified in doing it. This can't get any worse.

"Oh, by the way," Ruby says, rounding up to the table again with a slice of pie, "someone snapped a photo earlier. I think they're making postcards. Thought you'd want a heads up."

Okay, maybe she was wrong. Turns out it _can_ get worse.

* * *

Emma is determined not to pity herself, but even she can't deny that it's exactly what she's doing. In her defense, Snow is encouraging it.

"I've never showed up at someone's door in a _bunny outfit_ and been rejected," she says dejectedly.

Snow's eyes get wider. "You mean you've done it before?" she squeaks, the ghosts of failed parenting raising again in her eyes.

"No – I mean, theoretically," Emma backtracks frantically. "Totally theoretically."

"Hm," says Snow, looking only half-convinced, but knowing her, she probably believes it deep down, considering that she sees Emma half like a slightly reckless best friend and half like a baby in a carved-out tree. God, Emma's life is weird.

Emma flops backwards on the bed. She's still getting used to living alone, but Snow and Charming – and Henry and even sometimes Regina, even though she calls it a "filthy bachelor pad" – visit every other day, so she can't really get lonely. "Ruby said she could've warned me. What do think she meant?"

Snow thinks for a few seconds. "Well..." she says after a while. "I might be wrong, but we've known the Mayor for a while now, and she's never been less than... classy." She flicks a quick glance at Emma. "Not that I think she's right, of course. But I think she might have expected something a little more high-end."

She doesn't get into more details about Emma's outfit that day, which is good because it would only mean awkwardness all around. (Emma is actually waiting for a quiet afternoon to burn it in the garden. Not that she's going to tell anyone that.)

Emma makes a contemplative noise. "Classy," she repeats, a bit incredulous, like – seriously, this is her life? She's dating an ex-Evil Queen who won't fuck her because her underwear isn't _classy_? Honestly. If Emma wasn't living in an honest-to-god fairytale town, she would think that shit is straight out of some terrible cable drama.

Snow pats her hand, giving her a glance that contains no small measure of _that's what you get for dating Regina Mills_.

Emma buries face-down in her pillow. "I know," she says.

Snow's laugh tinkles behind her, and – yeah, okay. Maybe Emma's life isn't that bad.

* * *

**2.**

Okay, so. Emma isn't going to claim that she knows a lot about, like, girly stuff, because she doesn't. The orphanage didn't really lend itself to sleepovers, and besides, Emma was always more of a tomboy, hanging out with guys and getting up to less-than-respectable stuff. She's not ashamed of it, of her old friends or of her old life. It's just – it's different now. She's got Snow and Charming and Henry and Regina and this life here in Storybrooke, and sure, it's a life of evil curses and fairytale characters popping up randomly, sometimes it's trying and sometimes it's plain ridiculous, but it's her life.

That being said, she's still not good at the girl stuff. At all. She puts on the bare minimum when it comes to make-up, and her clothes are an endless panoply of jeans, boots, shirts and leather jackets. Once in a while Regina makes a scathing comment about her 'sartorial inability' and Emma ignores it because Regina says shit like that every two seconds and it's not like she didn't make Emma keep her boots and jacket on one or ten times when they were having sex, so Emma's not too concerned.

But this is – she just wants to do something nice for Regina. It sounds stupid and sappy, and it probably is, and Regina probably doesn't even _want_ to Emma surprise her, because she hates everything that doesn't fit in her neat plan, but they've been together for more than six months now and Regina's birthday (which Emma wrangled out of her at great cost) is soon. It's not like she can plan a candlelit dinner or anything, you know? But she's acutely aware of how happy this, dating Regina and spending time with her and Henry, is making her, and she wants to give back.

"Ugh," she says at her mirror, both at her own sappiness and at her inability to apply eyeliner properly. She looks like a mixture between a panda and a baby prostitute. Or maybe a baby panda and a prostitute.

She considers calling Ruby, or even Belle, but the first is still determined to mock her until the end of her days for the Bunny Rabbit Debacle (as she's taken to calling it) and the second is probably working, so she dismisses the idea.

She eventually manages to do her make-up. She's gone into the city – a _real_ city, because believe it or not, Storybrooke doesn't really abound with underwear stores – to buy an ensemble. It's discrete, she thinks. Classy. Regina will definitely like it.

It's been – well. It's not exactly been awkward since that first botched try, but Regina definitely didn't bring it up, so Emma didn't either, and there have been a few evenings where they've looked at each other in Regina's kitchen, obviously thinking about the same thing. Emma can't say she's not eager to wipe the memory from Regina's brain with a better one. She is going to rock Regina's world.

She does her hair, dresses slowly and conscientiously, even puts on a little perfume (Snow's, that she left when she moved in with Charming) because what the hell, if she does this she might as well go all the way. Then she takes a breath.

Okay. Operation: Seducing the Evil Queen (Again), here she goes.

* * *

"How was it?"

Emma rolls around to glance at the clock. It's eight in the morning. Who wakes up at eight in the morning?

"Who wakes up at eight in the morning?" she groans.

Ruby's excited voice bounces in her ear. "Sorry," she says, not sounding sorry at all. "I was just so curious. Did it work? Did she swoon?"

"How do you even –" Emma quickly changes hands so she can rub her eyes and hold her phone to her ear at the same time, "how do you even know I was going to do this? I didn't tell anyone."

"Please," Ruby huffs. "You were moping for weeks, and then you suddenly brightened up. No need to be a genius."

"I wasn't – you know what, I'm not going to have this conversation with you. Go do whatever you do at this hour. Bye, Ruby."

She hears Ruby's distant "Wait, wait! How did it go?" before she hangs up and drifts back to sleep.

When she wakes up, the first thing she does is take a shower and get rid of all that make-up. Then she checks her phone (14 missed messages, Ruby's love life must be _abysmal_), and _then_ she goes to the local dive, iOnce Upon A Pint/i (remember how she said some things in her life were ridiculous? This is one of them).

The neighborhood alcoholic, an old woman whom everyone calls Match Girl because of her refusal to light her big cigars with everything other than the matches she always in her pockets, tips her an imaginary hat.

"Hey, Sheriff," she says.

Emma slumps on a chair. "Vodka," she tells the bartender, Hans-Christian.

He raises an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, Sheriff," he says in his thick Danish accent, sounding contrite.

Emma tips back a shot of vodka and slams the glass on the bar for more. "What do you mean, you're sorry?"

"I'm sorry your surprise for the Mayor didn't work out."

Emma might or might not spit some of her vodka out. Hans-Christian, who is a gentleman, pretends not to notice. Emma wipes her mouth with her sleeve.

"What? What do you mean, my surprise for the Mayor?"

Hans-Christian's cheeks color. "We're all supporting your relationship, Sheriff," he says sweetly. "Sometimes the Mayor can be difficult."

"You're telling me," Emma grouches, and then she squeezes her eyes shut and tries to wake up, because apparently the whole town knows what she's trying to do and how she's horribly failing and this just cannot be true.

"Pinch me," she whispers to no one.

She jolts at a stinging pain in her arm. When she opens her eyes, Match Girl is looking at her fixedly. "What the –"

Match Girl shrugs. "You said to pinch you."

Emma slumps back on her seat. "Right. Thanks, Match." She looks around: nope, everything's still there. "Another."

* * *

Before anyone tells you otherwise, this is how it actually went down. Emma put her heels on, drove to Regina's (she's not going to make that mistake twice) and prayed for luck and, you know, sexytimes.

She knocked. She knocked for a while, actually, and probably a little loud, but whatever. She was nervous.

Eventually Regina opened the door. She raised her eyebrows when saw Emma, surprised.

"Miss Swan. I thought we weren't seeing each other today."

Regina is frustratingly formal with their relationship. After they started dating (a term in which none of them include the few times they engaged in vigorous hate sex before that), Regina insisted they do it the right way, and then forever to put out, even though Emma insisted that she'd seen it all before. Even now that they're officially 'together', they have a strict planning of when they see each other and whatnot. Emma finds it extraordinarily endearing – not that she's ever gonna tell anyone that, of course.

"We weren't. Can I come in?"

Regina took a step back. "Of course, please. I was cleaning, I hope you'll forgive the mess."

Emma rolled her eyes at Regina's formality. When they were in the hall, Regina leading her to the kitchen, she reached forward and took her wrist to stop her. Regina turned around, surprised.

"What is it?"

Emma smiled, suddenly a little choked up. God, this was dumb. "Nothing, I just -"

She tangled a hand in the hair at the back of Regina's neck and pulled her forward. Regina didn't resist, and they kissed for a while, leisurely, like they had all the time in the world. Sometimes Emma couldn't really equate this Regina, who was soft and pliant and careful, with the one who gave her withering glances if she didn't use a napkin – but then she caught one of her slow-blooming smiles when she was cooking, her hair loose over her starched blouse, and it was like a puzzle piece slotting in, something that she'd known all along that finally made sense.

Eventually Regina pulled away and a smile quirked the corner of her mouth.

"Is that why you came, Miss Swan?" she said, her voice husky.

Emma hesitated. On one hand, they had all the time in the world. Henry was spending the day with his grandparents, Regina was a great cook, the sex could wait. On the other hand, it was sex, it was surprise, and nothing said they couldn't eat later, right?

Regina's eyes definitely widened when Emma started stripping in the middle of the corridor, but she didn't object. Emma took her hand and led her to the staircase, where she crossed her arms over her chest and just – watched, amused, an eyebrow quirked.

Eventually Emma straightened and opened her arms, feeling half-awkward and half-confident in her new and, yes, a little scratchy underwear, but it wasn't like it wasn't going to be off soon, right?

"Ta-da," she said. "Surprise."

Regina frowned. Emma felt a little insulted.

"What is this?" Regina finally asked.

"Isn't it obvious?"

"I'm not really sure what you're trying to do here, Miss Swan."

Emma crossed her arms, wishing they'd had that discussion _before_ she was half-naked. "I'm trying to surprise you. With lingerie."

Regina gave a disdainful little nod at Emma's underwear. "This isn't lingerie. This is –" she squinted, "did you buy this at _Target_?"

Emma squirmed, blushing. "It's not – lacy and black, that's like, the only requirements for sexy underwear, right?"

Regina cocked her head. She was smiling, or maybe it was the light. With Regina it was often the light. "I think you should go home."

"What? No! I only just got here!"

"Yes, you did. And now you're going. I'll pack you some food." She started walking in direction of the kitchen, her heels clicking on the floor, and despite her bemusement and humiliation, Emma couldn't help watching the way her ass moved in that dress. Why did she have to wear such tight dresses anyway?

Which was the story of how Emma ended up back in her clothes and standing on Regina's doorstep, _again_, this time with her arms full of warm plastic containers.

"Fuck," she said to the cut-off tree. It probably understood what it felt to be inexplicably rejected by Regina Mills, after all.

* * *

So now here she is, drinking her sorrows while the whole town laughs at her misery. She thought she was over drowning her sorrows in alcohol, but now, apparently Regina Mills not only makes her feel like a teenager, she also makes her act like one.

It takes four vodkas and a few truly disgusting cocktails (Hans-Christian, she learns, is only bar-tending to pay his rent while he writes the new American Novel; Emma doesn't tell him it's probably best) before she's spilling her story to everyone who's willing to listen. She's usually more the sulk in silence type, but it's not like everybody doesn't already know, right?

"It was _classy_," she insists to a couple who plopped down next to her, a young man with a black cap and his girlfriend, wearing a little white dress (she's a dancer, she explains before Emma starts her rant). "It was definitely classy."

Gabrielle, the dancer, frowns lightly. Emma tries not to think about Regina. "What did it look like?"

"It was like..." Emma makes an aimless gestures with her hands. Maybe she's drunker than she thought, "pink. And black. And frilly. Shit."

Gabrielle grimaces, like she thinks Regina might have had a point, and seriously? This is horrible. Everyone in this bar is horrible. Emma hates them all.

"I hate you," she says bluntly to Gabrielle.

Gabrielle pats her shoulder gently, utterly unaffected. "It's going to be fine, you know," she says, her porcelain features composing in a supportive smile, "maybe she just wants you to be... natural. Think about that."

They might have said other stuff after that, but Emma gets so drunk she can't feel her hands and falls asleep on her stool. When she wakes up next to Match Girl she feels like she's been run over by a very, very heavy truck and she has a distant memory of a drunk girl screeching about a pea, which she decides was a nightmare.

She sets about going home, dragging her feet.

* * *

**3.**

This was funny, at first. Why not, try to find something to titillate Regina? She's usually so... intent, on everything, on taking charge, on things being the way she wants. But Emma is starting to honestly feel like shit about all this. On one hand, she knows Regina is being difficult and honestly, confusing, but on the other... does Emma really not know her? They've been together for a while now. How can they still be so unconnected? Maybe this wasn't a good idea.

The thing is, Emma is shit at second-guessing herself. Usually when she decides something she throws herself into it with all her might. After she decided to give up Henry for adoption it hurt, but she never regretted her, because she'd convinced herself it was the right thing to do – and she's still not sure it wasn't, but you know. This is different. This is more or less uncharted territories. Not that Emma's never been with a woman – she has. Just never a woman as confusing, infuriating, ambiguous and maddeningly attractive as Regina Mills.

She hates to say it, but Regina and her have been... taking their distances, of late. Emma still sees Henry, and they still have dinner together every other day, but the rest of the time Regina doesn't ask her over and Emma doesn't call, out of pride or out of humiliation or maybe out of fear. They act like everything's normal, but they haven't had sex in weeks and everything was going so well... Emma's starting to regret this whole surprise thing. But it's not like this wouldn't have surfaced at some point or another. Maybe they just threw themselves into it.

"Maybe it's good that we're taking things slow."

The mirror, who, thank God and all his apostles, isn't inclined to talking most of the time (i.e. when it's not enchanted, but that happens more often that strictly normal in Storybrooke), doesn't look convinced. Her face in it doesn't either.

Emma rubs her temples with her fingers. She hates to say it, even to think it, but she misses Regina. It's as simple as that.

People used to ask her, at first. They thought it was coming out of left field, the Sheriff and the Mayor suddenly shacking up, and sure, maybe the Evil Queen wasn't so evil of late, but that didn't mean she wasn't still a villain, did it? Emma tried to tell them, to make them see that the world isn't divided into good guys and bad guys, but they wouldn't understand.

Even the people she spends a lot of time with, Snow and Charming, Ruby, Belle, hell, even Mister Gold (though he was largely uninterested by the whole thing), didn't _get_ it. And it was frustrating. Regina told her, in her usual wry way, that people wouldn't 'get used to it as easily as you think, Miss Swan', but it was a shock to Emma. In the end the thing that got her – all of them, actually, because Regina can bottle it all she wants Emma knows that things do affect her sometimes – through it was Henry.

Henry, who never questioned it. Henry, who saw Emma one morning at breakfast, and smiled, and said, "Hey, mom. Do you want cereal?" Henry who only asked if she was still the Savior now that the saving had been done when he saw Emma and Regina kissing for the first time. Henry, who drew picture after picture of their three-person family, who, Regina told her with fierce pride, had actually been drawing them long before they actually got together. Henry, who spent an hour with them trying to find names for them ('Mom and Ma', 'Mama and Mommy', 'M1 and M2' (Regina exercised her veto on that one)).

After a while people realized they weren't going to break up any time soon, and they got used to it. Now no one even blinks when they go shopping together, the three of them, Henry climbing on the cart and making pirate movements (which Emma frowns at, because Hook is a dick and she'd rather not be reminded of him) and Regina taking unhealthy item Emma puts in and putting it back on the shelf. They're the Sheriff and the Mayor, and they're also Regina and Emma, as weird as it sounds sometimes. It's not to say that people don't still ask her what she sees in Regina (to which she always answers something different, because she can't help being baffled at everything there is to love in that woman), but they don't look as bewildered, and they actually listen to what she says.

Now... it feels like a pity to throw all that away. So Emma decides to take one last shot at it.

* * *

Bella nods a few times in a row. "Simplicity. It's the key to that sort of thing."

Emma frowns. "You're sure? Regina doesn't -"

"I'm sure."

Emma leans back on the chair, curling her fingers on her mug of piping hot coffee. "So what should I do?"

Belle stands and starts tidying up, though there's literally nothing to tidy up, at least in Emma's view. Belle's apartment is quaint and cosy, a little nest filled to bursting with old books, trinkets, colored furniture and here and there evidence of her complicated relationship with Gold. Emma's never really understood them, but it's not like she can judge.

"I don't know," Belle says. She thinks about it for a minute, while Emma drinks her coffee. "Maybe you should just do it the simplest way."

Emma waits for her to explain, but she doesn't.

"What do you mean?"

Belle raises an eyebrow, waiting for her to catch on. Which Emma doesn't.

"Naked. I mean naked, Emma. You told me that you tried two outfits and she didn't like them, so maybe that's the safest way to go about it." Her gaze gets distant. "Rumple used to like it when I showed up in just a coat and heels, actually. He would..."

Emma covers her ears and starts singing very loudly. Just because she's not overtly critical of Gold and Belle doesn't mean she wants to hear about their sex life.

Belle smiles. "Okay, okay." She picks up what looks like a miniature grandfather clock, wipes non-existent dust underneath it, and puts it back in its place. "Think about what I said, though."

* * *

Emma does. And she comes to the conclusion that – why not? It's not like she has anything to lose by this point, and in her limited array her friends, Belle does seem the most qualified, considering that Snow blushes every time Emma mentions activities that go beyond kissing and Ruby would love for Emma to make a complete ass of herself.

She decides to go big or go home, and to do it on Regina's birthday. Regina doesn't like to make a big deal of it, and from what she told Emma usually keeps the day to spend with Henry, but Emma knows for a fact that Henry's has school in the morning and she builds her plan accordinly, meaning that she marks the day in red on the calender hanging on her fridge and then tries to forget about it until D-day. They have sex a few times, and it's good (it's always good), but when it's over Regina turns around in the bed to show Emma her back and Emma can't help but feeling rejected. Regina isn't the warmest person around, but she used to – no need to dwell on that.

Eventually the day comes. Emma wakes up at six am, which she never does, and spends a long time waking up, trying to get used to the pale light coming from the window, which she never sees. She thinks about Regina slipping out of the bed like she has a hundred times when Emma slept over and going to work in her office, her glasses on, eyebrows furrowed. It's a strange thought. Emma gulps down her coffee and sets to work.

This time she doesn't spend as much time dolling herself up. She takes a shower and, feeling a little bit like an exhibitionist, puts on the big coat she just got around to digging up for the winter (which, okay, isn't exactly sexy, but in her reasoning it's gonna be off pretty quickly) and one of the two pairs of heels she owns. She looks... good.

And yeah, maybe it's pathetic, the way she feels like everything's hanging on what was only supposed to be a mildly naughty surprise for her girlfriend (though she'd never say that in front of Regina. She – in her own words – 'loathes that word'). Maybe it's delusional, but it doesn't keep Emma from being so nervous her clammy palms slide on the wheel.

When she stops in front of Regina's house she doesn't give herself too long to think about it. She gets out of the car, shivering at the crisp wind on her naked legs, and knocks. This time Regina appears almost immediately. She's dressed more casually than usual, which for her means pressed slack and a silky purple top that makes Emma's throat constrict.

"Happy birthday," Emma says. "You look –" _beautiful_ "nice."

The smile on Regina's face is hesitant, but it's there. She moves in for a kiss; when their lips touch the feeling of it shocks Emma by its newness. It's like they haven't kissed for weeks, months even – Emma feels like she should learn Regina all over again. She tries to count in her head and... gives up.

"Come in," Regina says when she pulls away.

"Thanks."

They walk to the kitchen in silence. Regina doesn't ask Emma about her coat or her heels, because she hasn't noticed or maybe because she doesn't want to know.

"Do you want coffee?" she asks.

Emma nods. They drink; Emma can't help but notice how far away from her Regina is standing, like they're still at that stage between enemies and strangers. Something in her throat goes tight.

"Regina, I –"

"Miss Swan –"

They both laugh nervously, looking away. Regina looks slightly irritated, like she does every time she's presented with a problem she can't fix.

"Go ahead," Regina says graciously.

Emma considers talking, saying that she misses her and that she wishes they could be like they used to, but she's never been all that good at talking and a part of her is afraid that Regina is just going to laugh at her, so she does the only other thing she can think of: she drops the coat.

Regina's jaw drops. Emma would feel proud that she's managed to surprise the unflappable Mayor Mills if she could tell for sure that that was the good reaction.

"Say something," she says after she's been standing there for a while and Regina's still not saying anything.

Regina looks up at her. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"I don't know," Emma says, flushed and now a little angry, "how about: wow, thank you? Happy birthday to me? I want you? Or, I don't, anything that shows that I'm not still a disgusting ant you want to crush?"

She didn't mean to say that, but now that she has, she can't take it back. It does feel like this. She used to feel... when she came into Regina's office, before. She used to feel like she was stepping in a pool of ice. And sure, she was attracted to Regina, there were the tights skirts and the pumps and that little smirk she does, but she wouldn't give any of the warmth Regina has shown her since they've begun a real relationship for that titillation. Because that ice... it was the kind that felt like fire, like you're being burned alive.

"Is that what you think?"

The tone of her voice snaps Emma out of her thoughts. She knows that voice. That's Regina's confrontation voice. And really, what right does she have to be angry? Emma is the one who should be angry. She's the one who's been showing up here wearing less than nothing to please Regina and who's been kicked out just as often.

"Yes. Yes, it is. Because you know what? For weeks you've treated like I don't even exist. I thought we were going somewhere, Regina. That's why I'm doing this. For you. But you –" she stops to take a breath, and shit, her eyes are welling with tears, and she's still naked, standing in Regina's fucking spotless kitchen, "you act like you're still the Evil Queen, like I'm some kind of inconvenience you just wanna get rid of. Tell me if you don't want to be with me, but don't do – that."

Regina is looking like she just had the wind knocked out of her sails. "Where is this coming from?" she asks, her voice cold, and Emma – Emma's had enough of her pretending like nothing touches her.

"Can't you just react like a fucking human being, for once? Say you're sorry? For fuck's sake, Regina, we've been dating for almost a _year_, most nights we" _used to_ "sleep in the same bed, we have a _son_ together and you're still calling me Miss Swan. What is your fucking problem?"

It physically hurts to see Regina's face shut off. "I'm not going to stand there and let you abuse me, Miss Swan. If you're quite finished –"

But Emma is on the roll. She's disappointed, she's angry, she's cold, the coffee and the drive here wired her up, and honestly? She's tired. "I'm not finished. I'm done, Regina. I'm not going to let you break my heart. I've had enough of people doing that. So if you want to explain... you tell me, but I won't be waiting."

And then she has to kneel on the floor, pick up her coat and put it back on while Regina watches, her jaw tense and her eyes dark, unreadable as always. Despite what she's just said, Emma feels the urge to take a step forward and press her lips against Regina's, just once, to see how she'd react, if she'd sigh, just a little.

The worst thing about this, she thinks as she zips her coat, is that it would take one word for her to stay. _Don't. Wait. Emma. Stay._ But Regina doesn't say any of those things, so Emma leaves. She doesn't slam the door. She feels drained of energy, of strength, or everything. She drives to the nearest deserted patch of nature, stops the car, leans her forehead against the wheel and cries for a long time.

* * *

**4.**

It's pretty miserable after that. Emma can see how for most people, this break-up came just out of nowhere as their couple did. In a way it's true; in another it feels like it's been coming forever, like they were only putting it off. Emma knows it isn't true, as Snow tells her time and time again, but it doesn't keep her from feeling like shit.

Especially since Henry, after they tried to keep it from him for a while (though why, Emma doesn't know; it's not like they're planning on getting back together), finds out, gets mad and stops talking to both of them. Nothing will do it. Bribes, threats, explanations... he doesn't want to hear anything. Not for the first time, Emma looks at Regina's rigid back and feels like shit for making her life so difficult when she first got here, after Regina took care of her son for so many years. Now she knows how hard it is to be a parent, and she also knows that she wouldn't give her kid up for anything.

The point being, Henry won't talk to her, she's not trying to talk to Regina but she's not volunteering dialogue either, life pretty much fucking sucks. The worst thing about it, though, is probably how unaffected Regina seems by all that. Emma knows, intellectually, that she has the best pokerface of probably the entire human race, and has been perfectly it for decades now, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt to see Regina around town, chatting to people like everything's peachy and she hasn't just broken up with her girlfriend of six months.

Meanwhile Emma wakes up every morning feeling like she has the worst hangover known to man. The effect probably should've faded after that two-day bender just after that fight, but it didn't, and now Emma perpetually looks like a zombie. Not that she cares how she looks – it's not like she has anyone to impress anymore. Her days consist of the same routine: wake up, try to shake the dark cloud of depression and anger that follows her around, fail, go to work, avoid people, go back home, sleep, repeat. She even considers leaving Storybrooke. Sure, it's only for five minutes, before she remembers that her entire life and _Henry_ are here, but it's a pretty dark five minutes.

She successfully manages avoiding talking about it to anyone for about two weeks before Snow shows up at her door at eight pm one night with a care package and a half-disapproving, half-pitying frown. When she sees her, Emma feels something crackle in her, and at her own horror, feels her eyes start to well up.

Snow's face softens. "Oh, honey," she whispers, just before Emma falls forward and clings to her, breathing in her clean and wholesome scent. Later she'll pretend like this has never happened, but fuck, she never had a mother and now she does, and she deserves this. She fucking deserves this.

"I'm fine," she says when she pulls away, long after the limit for what is considered 'fine'. "I'm fine. I'm okay. You can go home to David."

"Don't be stupid," Snow chides. "Budge over, I'm coming in."

Emma suffers the soft-spoken remarks about the state of her apartment (which are warranted, but Emma honestly can't bring herself to care) and sits down when Snow tells her to, pushing a few dirty clothes from the couch. She stares blankly while Snow makes tea and tidies up the kitchen a bit.

"You need to pull yourself out of this," Snow says gently. "What happened?"

Emma opens her mouth, but can't find something to say. "Nothing," she says eventually. "It was bound to happen anyway. It was never going to work. What was I thinking? Me and the Evil Queen." She gives a disbelieving, softly desperate laugh. God, she's pathetic.

Snow hums contemplatively. "You know," she finally says when the kettle starts whining and she turns the heat off and starts pouring, "I thought that too, at first." She puts the mugs on a tray and brings them to Emma, giving her an apologetic smile in the process. "Well, you were there, you know. I just couldn't get it, why you and Regina were doing this. I didn't think I'd ever get used to it. But time passed, and I have to admit, you're good for each other. You make each other better. You make _her_ better, Emma."

The old defensive muscle acts almost on instinct, and Emma opens her mouth to say, _no, she makes_ me _better, you don't understand_ – before she closes it again. "Well," she says instead, grimly. "You could've said that a week ago."

Snow laughs, twisting her mouth a little. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm just saying... don't you think you can salvage this? And there's Henry, too, I just –"

"No. I don't think I can." Emma swallows. The tea burns her throat, but it's good, distracting. "I told Regina she could come and see me if she wanted to talk about it. She didn't."

Snow doesn't say anything. She just nods, and holds out her hand. Emma tangles their fingers together.

It's funny, she thinks later, as she falls asleep, tucked in by Snow in her narrow bed (Regina refused to sleep here, she – no. Emma's not doing this). If there's one thing she never thought she'd say, it's this – _Don't, mom. It's over._

* * *

"I'm not drunk!" Emma shouts through her car window.

Which is a lie. She is totally, completely, utterly wasted. If she wasn't, she probably wouldn't be shouting out of her car window (except if ABBA came on, but whatever. Not relevant).

She is so wasted, in fact, that she's too busy being relieved in the back of her mind that she hasn't a) been apprehended by the police ("The police is me," she remembers saying to a tree at some point) or b) totaled her car (and herself) into a tree, to notice that the road she's taking is eerily familiar. Which it should be, since it's the road that leads to Regina's house. This is such a bad idea.

But the drunk version of Emma apparently loves bad ideas, because not only does she reach Regina's house, she also parks in front of it (well, parks is a big word. She just stops the car halway through a zigzag in the middle of the road) and starts climbing the stairs. She presses the doorbell, frowns to herself, then knocks.

"Honey, I'm home!" she shouts. There are tiny alarm signals flashing in red at the back of her mind, but Emma is determined to ignore them.

In fact, she prefers to busy herself by stripping down. Better get a headstart on it, right? However, since she can't remember what order clothes are supposed to come off in, Emma start by taking off her jacket, which she throws at the stairs, then gets started on the socks. The socks... are a challenge. Let's just say that Emma's hand-to-foot coordination is not optimal. Far, far from optimal, actually.

She's halfway through the second sock, her tongue hanging out in effort, when the door finally opens.

"Mom?"

Emma's head shots up. "Henry?"

She dimly registers that she's still holding her sock. It finally slides off, with a soft pop.

"Mom?" Henry asks, his eyebrows furrowed, looking confused. "What are you doing here? Is something wrong?"

Emma feels like disappearing into the ground. "No," she says, suddenly sobered up. "Uh – everything's fine, Henry. I'm just gonna -" she jerks her thumb at her car behind her, "go. I'm gonna go."

Henry frowns. "I'll call Ma," he says. He smiles, so tentatively that Emma's heart breaks all over again. "She's making apple pie." Emma remembers the days when he thought that Regina poisoned her pies – which she might have done, once or twice, but Emma's elected to forget it. She shakes her head.

"No, don't –"

But it's too late. Henry is already running down the hall, shouting for Regina. Emma, still holding one of her socks in her hand, looks back at her car again. She can't just take off, but on the other hand, there are few things she'd like less than have another confrontation with Regina right now. She squares her shoulder as she hears the familiar click of Regina's heels. Well. Looks like she's not going to have much of a choice.

Regina appears in the frame the door. She looks perfect, as usual; the sight of her makes Emma ache like she doesn't think she's ached before. Fuck, that woman messed her up.

Her eyebrows are crunched. "Miss Swan? What are you doing here?"

Henry tugs her hand. "I said that too."

"I, uh – I was just –"

"Why aren't you wearing shoes? Or socks? And why is your jacket on the stairs?" Regina is looking more and more unhappy, and Emma can see the clinch when she catches on. "Are you – are you drunk?" Her features change, turning icy. She crouches to get to Henry's level. "Why don't get started on the pie, Henry. Miss Swan and I will be right over."

Henry gives the both of them a hesitant smile. "Sure." And he disappears into the house again.

Emma ducks her head. "I'm so sorry, Regina," she says, swallowing her pride. She's not mad enough still that she can't see that this was a major mistake. "I'm gonna go, I didn't think –"

"No," Regina interrupts her. "You clearly didn't." She pinches the bridge of her nose with a sigh. "But you also can't drive home in that state. Give me your keys."

Emma stares at her, dumbfounded. "What?"

"Give me your keys," Regina repeats. "You can't leave your car in the middle of the road, and alcohol obviously affects your driving abilities. So give me your keys."

This is, quite possibly, hell. In Storybrooke, Emma wouldn't be surprised – and honestly, it would be better than all this being the result of her own fuck-ups. "Regina, you don't have to -"

"But I do," Regina says coldly. "Since you forced me to."

There's nothing else to do, so Emma ducks her head again. She rummages through her pockets a little before remembering about her jacket, picking it up and finally digging out the keys. She picks up her socks in the process, shamefaced. Alcohol or not, the touch of Regina's fingers against her sends a spark down her spine.

"Go inside, Miss Swan," says Regina, her voice still cutting. "You know where the Aspirin is."

* * *

It's another ten minutes before Regina joins her in the bathroom. Emma sits on the edge of the tub and waits for her heartrate to slow down. Like Regina said, she grabs an Aspirin and downs it with a glass of water. She stares at herself in the tiny mirror of the medicine cabinet. She's a mess. She's a complete mess, she's still in love with Regina and it's tearing her apart. It sounds so ridiculous said like that.

She drinks glass of water after glass of water, trying not to think about what she's going to say to Regina. The truth is, she has no excuse. She's old enough to know how to deal with a break-up, and she knows that trying to deflect the responsibility on Regina would be a mistake and would only end in another fight. The sound of Regina's heels resounds again. Emma startles up, composes herself.

The door opens. At first Regina is straight, almost rigid, the image of justice and disappointment, then her shoulders slump down a little, she leans against the doorframe.

"Miss Swan," she says, her voice heavy.

"Emma."

"Emma." It might be wrong, but hearing her say it, even now, makes Emma want to spring up and kiss her. "You can't do this in front of our son."

Emma squeezes her eyes shut. "I know. I know, and I'm sorry. I didn't think, I just –"

"You just what? We are separated, Miss – Emma. There's nothing left to say."

"How can you say that? You didn't say anything!"

"Because you didn't let me."

Emma can feel herself starting to shake. The day is going well so far. "I told you – I told you to come and find me, and _talk_ me, and you didn't."

Regina's lips get thinner._ I didn't know what to say_, Emma reads on her face. "You made your decision. I won't try to change your mind."

"Is this – Regina, this is twisted. I didn't iwant/i to break up with you."

Regina's eyes are dark and burning now, and they're going all the talking. _Then why did you?_

"Because I didn't know! I didn't know what you wanted, if this was enough, and – I'm insecure, sometimes, okay? And I showed up here_ three times_ wearing less than nothing and all you did was send me home, and after that -" her voice breaks out, but it's not a sob. It is not. She tries to say it with her eyes too: _after that it went downhill and you wouldn't talk to me, and then I got scared because I always get scared and you didn't try to make me stay, and –_

"You're drunk. You should sleep."

"Regina..."

But Regina, faithful to herself, is already out the door. Her voice drifts back to Emma. "I'll put sheets in the guest room for you. I'm going to get Henry ready for bed. We'll talk tomorrow."

There's nothing else to do, so Emma makes her bed with Regina's sheets and thinks, as she lays her head in the pillow whose laundry smell is painfully familiar – _tomorrow_.

* * *

**5.**

Waking up is strange. At first Emma just blinks, and it takes a while before she recognizes the room. She's never actually slept in here – she went straight to Regina's bedroom, and she also fell asleep next to Henry a few times, but never here. This is for guests, and she's not a guest. At least she didn't use to be.

She checks her watch – ten am. When she undoes it it sticks to her stick, and Emma rubs the red mark on her skin absently. She thinks of going straight down, but she still smells like alcohol and she probably looks like shit to boot, not to mention that she could use one of ten more aspirin, given the killer hangover that she is currently suffering from and the conversation that is no doubt about to follow.

She drags herself to the bathroom, stopping to grab a towel in the cupboard. She can't help but peek into Regina's (and hers) bedroom, but sure enough, the bed is impeccably made and Regina is nowhere to be seen. In a way Emma is relieved. At least she hasn't upset Regina's routine – Regina would probably never forgive her. Not that forgiveness seems likely either.

She abandons this not very positive train of thought and goes to take her shower. Though it doesn't cure her hangover by far, it does make her feel a little more palatable. She brushes her teeth with the spare toothbrush (Regina has a spare everything, like she's always waiting for someone to come back; when they were together Emma had been waiting to bring it up, but now she may never know) and attempts to comb her hair to a level that Regina will deem respectable. Then she takes a deep breath, and she starts walking in the direction of Regina's office.

Regina responds to her knock almost immediately, and Emma can't help but breathe a sigh of relief. At least she's here.

"Enter."

Emma does. The sight of Regina, beautiful and severe behind her desk, seizes her heart, but she doesn't say anything, just sits opposite Regina, the desk between them like an obvious, visible barrier. It's not ideal, but it's not like the likeliness that they're going to hug and make-up is very high either (though they've been prone to make-up sex in the past).

She doesn't see any point in beating around the bush, and Regina isn't fond of it, so she just comes out with it. "I'm sorry."

Regina slowly takes her glasses off. "This kind of behavior is unacceptable in front of a child, Miss Swan."

So they're back to Miss Swan. Great. Emma can't help but scowl. She reins it in. "I know, and I apologize. I'll talk to Henry. This will never happen again."

"I hope so."

She leans back down on her papers, an obvious sign for Emma to show herself out, like in the old days, but Emma doesn't budge. She's here, she might as well make the most of it.

"Did you want something else?"

"Yes," Emma says. She swallows. "Is there – why –" Regina gives her a politely exasperated look, "why did you react like you did?"

"When?"

"You know when."

"I don't believe I reacted strangely," Regina says in that pinched way she has, when she knows she's telling an outright lie but just isn't ready to admit it.

Emma lets out a smothered laugh. "You're kidding, right? Regina. I showed up naked at your house, and you – I don't even know. You just... didn't react, I guess."

"I was surprised."

"After I'd already done it twice? And the iwhole town/i knew that I was trying to surprise you? It was your birthday, Regina! It's natural to do something like that."

"Not for me," Regina says simply, and Emma – Emma doesn't know what to say to that. She's just – floored.

"All my life," Regina says, keeping her gaze riveted on her papers, "I've been the Evil Queen. I lost Daniel when I was still a teenager. I've been living on my own, and I..." she hesitates, "I appreciate you, Miss Swan, as you know, but you can't blame me for being just as unused to the practices of relationships as you are to those of parenthood. I will admit that my reaction those first few times was a bit unorthodox and cold and I would've apologized for that, if you hadn't blown up in my kitchen like you did."

"Would you have?"

Regina's gaze snaps up, startlingly honest. "Pardon?"

"Would you have told me? Would you have apologized?"

Regina is looking straight at her now. "I don't know," she says eventually. "I like to think I would." A beat, and then: "I'm willing to make amends."

Emma swallows. This feels so fragile – one wrong movement and it could all collapse like a house of cards. She chooses her words as carefully as she can.

"I'm sorry. I was reckless. But you have to talk to me, Regina. I can't keep guessing what you're thinking."

Regina gives the tiniest inkling of a smile. "You haven't managed too badly so far."

Emma feels like her chest is expanding all of a sudden. It's an exhilarating feeling, like toeing on the very edge of a precipice, and not falling. Suddenly she regrets that there's that desk between them.

"You're not – bored of me, are you?" Emma asks. Better get it all out there at once, is her logic.

Regina looks genuinely surprised. She makes something that looks a lot like a pout. "Did I ever indicate something like that?"

Emma shakes her head. "No, you didn't, I'm jut -"

"I'm not very expressive," Regina says suddenly. "You'll have to be patient – that is, assuming you do, in fact, want to resume our relationship."

"I do," Emma says, maybe a little too quickly, but she can't bring herself to care.

"Maybe we should start taking this a little more seriously," Regina says almost softly, finally setting her pen down.

"Maybe," Emma says.

They look at each other from across the table. Emma never thought she'd ever say this, but it's better than a kiss, better than sex, even – that feeling of being connected to someone, of having a tether, someone that you'll always be able to rely on. That thing between them is still burning: the fire is just softer, sturdier, perfectly suited for the end of winter.

* * *

It doesn't get fixed like that, of course. There are more conversations and fights and Regina pins Emma to the bed and forbids her to ever, ever show up at her house like a flasher again. They talk about things they've never really talk about, things like careers and children and houses. At one point Emma walks out to breathe and Regina gets in a rage, won't talk to her for two days; but they make it through. They make it through every time, stronger, tighter. Regina still won't tell her a lot but it's not like Emma's the most talkative person either, and they know, but they make efforts. It changes a lot.

It also takes a while for Henry to forgive them. Faithful to his education, he drafts two contracts that explain in detail why they can't ever break up, with stick figures schemes to boost, and sets them in front of them at the breakfast table. Emma hesitates a little before signing ('never' is a pretty daunting word) but eventually she figures, why not. You've gotta take a leap of faith sometimes. It's been a while since Emma hasn't done that, and since she's already gone and fallen with the Evil Queen, might as well take it all the way.

They initiate a campaign to get rid of all the banners, posters, postcards and T-shirts (this one Emma is pretty sure is Ruby's doing which, not funny, Ruby) featuring Emma in her bunny costumes. Gold, in one of his creepiest moments, assures her that he's got a life-size painting of it in his shop, 'for assurance', and Emma tries to chase the idea out of her mind as best as she can with Regina's food (she's missed it so much) and a lot of sex. Okay, maybe it's a bit of an excuse, but they need to catch up. Regina huffs at the idea, but considering that she's entirely naked and her chest is still heaving when she does, Emma thinks she's warranted in not taking her seriously.

Snow visits her at the apartment and offers her congratulation, beaming like a fucking rainbow. She brings Henry along and he congratulates her too, though a tad bit more awkwardly, repeats what Snow had said, that he thinks they're good for each other. Emma catches herself just before saying, _yeah, I think so, too_. It's one thing being occasionally sappy with Regina, who can counteract that kind of behavior, but it's entirely another saying something like that to her _parents_, who practically shit flowers and unicorns already. (Actually, they might. Emma's not going to ask.)

Emma also brings Regina to the _Once Upon A Pint_, laughing off Regina's distaste when she reads the enseign. It might sound weird ("It does," Regina informs her coolly), but through all her moping she's actually bonded with Hans-Christian and his motley crew. Hans-Christian cowers a little when he sees Regina at first, but after once he ascertains that she's not going to curse him or drown him in mayoral paperwork, he starts bombarding with questions. Emma looks from afar, chatting with Gabrielle who came back ("Now it's my turn to be broken up and miserable," she said with delicate sadness, all of the weight melted right off her bones). Regina doesn't look exactly unhappy ("Can you do things with ice? I'm working on this short story, you see, it's –").

They're shopping with Henry one afternoon, Henry bouncing next to them, when they chance upon Archie. After a wary glance at Regina, he tips his hat off at them.

"Hello, Sheriff Swan. Mrs Mayor." He smiles nervously down at Henry. "Henry."

Regina nods. "Archie."

It's no more than that, really: not even a conversation, a inty exchange of greetings in the middle of a supermarket when they're performing the most mundane of mundane tasks, but... but she's there. She's there with Regina and Henry and yeah, it's cheesy, but she can't think of anywhere she'd rather be. It's as simple as that, really. All that happened in her life before, the orphanage, meeting Neal, giving up Henry, fighting against Regina – it all seems so distant, but this moment is vibrant and _now_, the core of everything.

"Why are you smiling?"

Emma startles a little, brought out of her thoughts. Henry is running ahead of them in the aisle, choosing cereal. He's probably going to choose something disgustingly healthy, thanks to Regina. That kid is lost to the world.

"I said: why are you smiling? You look like you won the lottery," Regina repeats.

She's not going to say it. She is not. Because she's not in a romantic comedy, and she doesn't say things like that. But she does turn towards Regina, and smile, and Regina, because she's Regina, gets it. She shakes her head, falsely chiding. Her lips are red and smiling, despite her efforts not to let them.

"Shut up," Emma says, and closes the distance between them.

* * *

(**+ 1**

They're lying in bed one night, Regina's glorious six-hundred thread count sheets pooling around their sweating bodies, when Regina sighs.

"What's going on?" Emma asks. She doesn't want to be cocky, but that was pretty spectacular sex.

Even though she can't see her, Emma feels the flippant movement of Regina's wrist. "I was just thinking about that outfit," she says eventually.

Emma furrows her brows in the dark. "What outfit?"

"You tried to surprise me once in it. I believe it was a bunny outfit?"

Emma gapes; she muffles her laugh in Regina's shoulder. "Oh my God," she says softly. "You liked it. I knew you did. I was right, all this time."

Regina gives a poor imitation of her signature disdainful shrug. When she kisses her Regina can feel the smile stretching her lips.

"Maybe," Regina whispers, and flips them over, pinning Emma's wrists to the mattress.)


End file.
